


A Little Rain Must Fall

by CrescentMoonRising



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston RPF
Genre: Artists, Cliche, F/M, Feels, Happy Ending, London, Old Friends, day from hell, in the rain, oh the things that will go wrong, tea in a cafe, uni buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7018273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrescentMoonRising/pseuds/CrescentMoonRising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when two old Uni friends meet on a rainy London street?  Ah, the possiblities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Rain Must Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt by a friend to put as many clichés into a story as possible, so here's a fluffy sweet one shot for you all!

_If today could be one of the worst days I’ve ever had, then at least I know that it can only get better from this._

She held onto the metal pole, the tube rocking back and forth so much, she feared she’d plant face first onto the floor.  However, that would have been impossible as the car was packed so tight, she could tell what the man next to her had for breakfast.  The pain in her stomach reminded her that she did not have his luxury as she flew out of her flat.  Her coffee pot remained full and untouched on her kitchen counter and that was a travesty unto itself.

She felt the tube slowing before the announcement, which was almost drowned out by the groans of everyone around her, _“There is a slight delay ahead.  We’ll be along shortly.”_

 _No, no…shortly is not what I need._ She held the portfolio draped on her arm for dear life.   _As If someone would be interested in a leather satchel of poorly created paintings_ , she mused before taking another deep breath and ignoring the sounds in the bottom of her belly.  With a groan and a push, the tube moved once more to her final destination of Aldgate.  Silently, she cursed the heels that she wore, knowing that once she hit the pavement she would need to sprint to her interview.

 _Interview, or just another failed attempt at getting my art noticed?_ She could only sigh inwardly as the tube slowed again.  Her mind drifted of how many times she’d been on this chase.  How in the world did she think she’d make in London? While as a student, she could always remind herself that she was progressing, making something from the bottom up.  Another night of watered down Ramen? _Easy peasy._  Living in a share with five other people and having a box for her own space? _Living the dream._

Except, she’d been out of Uni for five long years, and each month felt like she’d never break free of the cycle.

Five years of waitressing, picking up extra shifts, helping others with their studies as a tutor or reviewing essays, all for her to still be in the same dead end.  Today had been a bright spot in an otherwise long run of disappointments.  A friend of a friend knew someone who worked in the gallery and managed to get her a moment to bring her artwork over.  Maybe they were desperate for new talent, or liked that she’d attended school in Cambridge.  Either way, they gave her the first slot in the morning, and hence her desperation to get there.

As the doors opened, she fought and battled with everyone else to race for the doors and find the escalators to the top.  Grunting, _Pardon Me_ , while shoving into others as she boarded the stairs only proved that her characteristic optimism had taken a temporary leave.  With a long sigh, she made it to the top.  Once she scanned the map of the street level, she found her exit and nearly smiled.

Nearly, because of the telltale patter of rain that met her ears.

“No,” she groaned as her heels finally ascended upwards and she was met with a packed sidewalk of Londoners, mostly those shielding their heads with newspapers.  She wrapped her long blonde curls into a bun and prayed not to look too much like a drowned rat as she headed North.  Weaving through people, she could barely see as the rain dripped down her forehead. With a start, she realized she missed her turn.  

“Bollocks!” she screeched and stopped in her feet, just as a double decker bus rounded the curb and hit a puddle, spraying her dress with muddy, cold water.  She managed to pull her portfolio away in time, but the rest of her bore the mark of a London rainstorm.  Cold, wet and incredibly late, she couldn’t decide whether she should throw her paintings into the street or just scream.

Apparently latter was the answer as she turned and was met head on with another body, sending her to the pavement.   The noise she made sounded like a cross between a screech and a groan, and entirely un-ladylike.

 _I’ll add pain to the list today,_ she thought as her bum hurt the worst.  Her eyes turned more to her portfolio as a few sheets slipped out. With a gasp, she fumbled for them—the offensive collider out of her mind for the moment.

“No, no,” she whispered as the first tears fell; one of her favorite landscapes of Cambridge’s famous punters on the river appeared ruined.

“Are you all right, Miss? I’m terribly sorry!” came the gasp and a set of hands flew to the sheets still on the street.

_I know that voice.  Why do I know that voice?_

She kept her head down, praying for anonymity and just shook her head, “I’m fine, it’s fine.  Thank you.” She took her artwork from his hands, and stuffed them back into their soaked leather confines.  She wiped her eyes before she turned to leave.

Then he said her name.  He said it just as she remembered it.

Pulling her portfolio around her chest like a shield she looked up into a set of crystal blue eyes and soaked golden hair.

“T-Tom,” she managed before embarrassment set in.  He still had that charm of all those years ago,when they met up at Pembroke. Dressed perfectly in his rain appropriate jacket and collared shirt, he looked like he aged only a year.  Apparently, he was smart enough to check the days forecast.

Tom’s mouth remained open, and she feared his disgust as she fumbled her words, “Well, I—I have to go—“

“Wait!” he gasped and his hand reached for her arm.  Even in this storm, his fingers remained warm to the touch.

“Where are you headed?”

She brushed a wet tendril from her face, shaking her head, “I have—well, I think _had_ would be a better word—an interview at the Lafayette Gallery.” She looked down at herself and realized that even if she made it there, and the owner would still see her, she looked quite the mess.

Tom’s face dropped in concern, “I am so incredibly sorry, can I do anything? Can I make it up to you? At least let me get you a cup of tea, and warm you up from this.”

She shrugged, and he took that as a positive.  His arm moved to her elbow and before she could protest, they were in search of a café. Tom kept talking—she remembered that from their Uni days—about how he knew just the place, and it was so cold, and he wouldn’t feel right unless he straightened her out.  When they finally made it there, her teeth were chattering against each other.

Tom placed her in the back as he ordered some teas before he strode back to the table.  Just as he sat, he handed her a warm towel.  

“I asked them if they had a spare, I thought you could use it.”

“Oh, thanks Tom,” she managed as she ran the soft fabric over her hair and face.  She looked up to realize he never took his eyes off her.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, “So—it’s been a few years. How are you?”

 _Ugh._ She did not feel like lying but discussing the depressing story of an unsuccessful artist didn’t seem appropriate right at that moment.

She plastered on a smile, “I’m good, still living with friends outside Camden.  Still painting.” Her head bounced back and forth, drops hitting her thighs as she motioned to her portfolio.

“This was an interview at a Gallery? So you’ve had your work shown, then? That’s great!”   _Unending enthusiasm._

“Well, no.  I can’t say I have,” she murmured and gratefully looked up to the waitress with their tea.  “I’ve tried, believe me.  London’s not an easy place to break out.” His face fell at her words.

“And I kept you from that interview.  Shit, I am so sorry.” She waved a hand in the air before grasping onto the warmth of her cup before she took a sip.  She could have moaned at how wonderful it felt, coursing through her body.

“It’s fine, really.  I’ll call and see to reschedule.  If it wasn’t meant to be, then I can’t force it.  Life will find a way, you know?” She decided to turn the conversation back to him.

“Heard about the movies you’ve done, good show by you.  Sounds like you’re about to explode into the big time.”

“You noticed?” he said, playing with the cup and saucer, turning the cup around by its handle.

She stammered, hoping he wouldn’t think her a stalker, “No! Well, yes. I mean, hard not to notice when one of your upper classmen makes their mark.  Everyone said you had talent, it’s just good to see someone actually reach that success.”

“You could too.  Those paintings are gorgeous.  The fact someone hasn’t noticed yet is exactly what you believed—it wasn’t the right time.”

With a sigh, she sat back—but the sting of where she landed took her breath away.

“You alright?” he murmured and she could only put on a smile.

“Yes, yes.  Probably need to ice this, you know? I have a shift in a few hours and need to change.” She began to grab her things and searched for her wallet. She looked up and nearly fell over at his crestfallen face.

“I—well, I understand.  No, please, it’s on me.  Least I can do, you know?” His hand reached across the table and she almost pulled it away.

 _Almost_. “I do apologize.  I don’t normally crash into people on the street.  I’ve thought about you often, you know?”  She had to force herself to believe the sincerity in his eyes, the smile that played against the corners of his lips.  She transported back to being a first year and him on the brink of graduation.  Finding each other at parties, having similar friends, but never making it to the next level.  She considered him those days a casual friend, _but he was a friend to everyone, wasn’t he?_

“Oh, I did too.” Her cheeks started to burn and she knew it wasn’t from heat.  

“Thanks Tom.  Well, I have a long tube ride back and should try to dry what I can from here out.  It really was great seeing you again, even with everything.” She couldn’t look at his eyes, did not dare to catch them again. Because she would tell him how she thought of him often, even after Uni.  She frequently remembered his gentle smilie and caring personality, of his laughter and his charm.

He stood and after a moment’s pause, grabbed her into an embrace, “Same, my dear.  Same.”  She waved and headed outside, thankful that the pouring rain had turned into a drizzle.  She could manage this weather.  Pulling her portfolio up and around, she looked for the way back to the tube, but stopped at the calling of her name.

“Wait!” She held back a gasp of shock, watching him run towards her from the café. For a second, she thought she left something behind.  However, he rushed up to her, out of breath.

“I’m sorry, I have to at least try.  It’s been so many years and I can’t take the chance again.” Confused, she shook her head slightly, but it was cradled by his large palms on her cheeks.  Her breath left her body as he stared into her eyes, begging for permission.  

Her smile was her acceptance, right before his lips descended onto hers.  They were just as she’d always imagined: warm and soft but strong at the same time.  When his tongue ran across her lower lip, she allowed him in immediately and he pulled her tight into his body.

Within seconds they were out of breath, and she felt dizzy in their embrace.  He chuckled under his breath as he spoke against her lips, “Can I take the ride with you? I wont follow you in, promise.  I just want to make sure I get your number.” His hand brushed away the hair that fell from her clasp.

“Why would you need that?” she giggled as he brushed his nose against hers.

“Because I plan on taking you to dinner, and possibly dessert and not letting you go anytime soon.”


End file.
